Recollections Painted in Scarlet
by 13 Death Date 13
Summary: Why did Beyond Birthday become what he was, and just what events truly led up to the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases? Is he truly an abomination? What happened to him while he was in jail? Rated M for violence/gore and rape in later chapters.
1. Beginnings of a Memory

**Author's Note:** This story is actually part of my headcanon as Beyond Birthday. Yes, I roleplay as him and adore every second of it. I suppose one might say I wrote this because I felt the need to show people just how much poor Beyond has been through in his lifetime, and why he became what he did. One simply isn't born insane. They may be born into insanity, but it's obvious from this that he wasn't. There was something more.

To make things a simple for those who read later chapters, I'll list the mental conditions I believe Beyond to have. I think he has OCD, anxiety, manic depression (Bi-polar disorder), PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), and arsonphobia (a fear of fire).

Now for the main event. I hope everyone enjoys reading!

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><p><strong>Beginnings of a Memory<strong>

**Present…**

_Black sheep, black sheep… have you any wool? Yes sir, yes sir. Three bags full._

Quiet humming passed his lips as he washed his hands clean. In a bathroom where a leg was present, no less. It was a silly little thing, and oh how he laughed. The police had nothing on him. The _perfect_ crime might even stump L. If he couldn't get all the clues and capture the culprit, he'd lose the game. That was what it was, after all. A game between the two of them to see whose skills were more honed. To test who was the better out of the both of them. There were quite a few other reasons he was doing this, though.

A's death was one, and his own slipping sanity being another. Loneliness and loss drove him to madness. According to others, he'd been a demon. That said – he became one simply to appease their fantasies about him. To make their lies truth, simply so it wouldn't nag him anymore, he became what he was. Backyard Bottomslash had been a pretty woman. It was a shame, really. The people he'd killed had already had their death dates determined. He'd known how one of them was going to die, because he walked in on it, and changed the course of what happened. Was it so monstrous to grant to a child what they wished? At that, he laughed. A practiced laugh that simply wasn't _natural_.

Quarter Queen had been holding a knife to her wrist, whimpering imperceptible things to herself. She'd never suspected that instead of managing suicide that day, she'd be murdered. According to her babbled mutterings, she'd been bullied at school for having bad eyesight, as well as other things. That in itself almost made Beyond frown at himself. She reminded him of himself. Maybe that was why he'd chosen to leave the specific clue he had at that scene. He'd dropped the necessary clues on purpose. He'd crushed her eyes. She wouldn't need the contacts anymore, and so he took them away. As if to make some cruel joke, he put glasses on her. He only wished someone had crushed his own eyes. Then maybe he wouldn't be killing men, women, and children. All were equally horrible, equally disgusting, but he did what he did.

To some degree, maybe he even liked it.

Enjoyed the feeling of blood trickling between his fingers.

Screams of agony.

Breaths stopping.

He might have envied it to some degree, as well.

Oh well. From the beginning it had been part of his plan that he'd be the last to die. He'd be the final victim of the perfect crime. Because suicide can be classified as murder.

If his past had been different, maybe he wouldn't have been like this. If L had done everything differently. But no, he was a demented shell of what he'd once been. A broken, lonely, hateful being whose desires could have been called selfish.


	2. Train

**Train**

**Thirteen Years Earlier…**

"One plus one is?"

"Two! And one multiplied by one is one!" An enthusiastic answer passed his lips. Crimson eyes were bright with happiness, and not darkened by the agony that would take hold in later years of his life. Beyond Birthday had been a happy child with a good family. A family that loved him. He had no friends. None of the neighbor children liked him. The parents of those children called him a demon child. Something unholy that should be exorcised.

To slake his undying childish curiosity, he'd once asked his father what unholy and exorcised meant. He never wanted to hear those words again. For a five year old, he was incredibly intelligent. He read fourth year level books. Sometimes even fifth. Some books he even cleared within ten minutes – even if they had a hundred pages. His parents were astounded at how avidly he took in information.

Of course they'd granted him the access to it, and so he'd learned.

Math was another concept that made an incredible amount of sense to him. He solved it without even thinking.

The child blinked when something warm and fuzzy rubbed against the bottom of his foot. Ah—so the cat wanted attention. Bending down to pet the small creature, he fell out of his chair. A plush kitten fell with him, but instead of calling out in pain for his mother, he held the wound and stared at it.

"Beyond, please be more careful."

Admonished, B lowered his head and murmured an apology, followed by an excuse. Excuses and replacements for things that didn't make sense. Things placed where they didn't belong. He had odd habits, but his parents didn't hate him for them. "Arrow wanted to be petted, mummy."

Of course the reason he'd fallen from the chair was because his feet didn't reach the floor. His small body couldn't remain supported in the chair, and quite simply – he lost balance and fell. He was laughing now – Arrow was licking his face. His mother joined in the laughter quietly and bent down to pick up her son from the floor. "Arrow could have waited for you to leave the chair, sweetheart."

"But mummy, he looked sad!" By now, he was being playful. He didn't particularly mean harm by it. He'd been about to continue with a little rant about how pathetic the cat had looked, begging to be petted… when something about her caught his attention.

Ever since he'd been born, his vision had been tinted red, and every face he saw included a name. There were numbers just below that name, and he'd often frightened people by pointing out that he knew their name before they'd even said it. That was _too_ perceptive for a five year old. Unnatural. The woman holding him… the numbers above her head had changed.

"The numbers are smaller, mum."

"Of course not."

"But they are!" He was arguing with her, even as a bandage was placed over the small cut on his elbow. The silly thing was, he knew his mother wouldn't understand what he was talking about. Yet still, he'd bothered to bring it up. Frowning at her curiously, be bit his thumb. The last time he'd seen numbers so small… had been the last time he'd seen his grandmother.

Goodness, how he'd loved that woman. She'd been the sweetest old lady to walk the planet. She always brought him jars of jam when she visited. B used to sit in her lap, play with her gray hair and lick his fingers clean of the sticky substance, and sometimes he'd end up accidentally getting it in her hair. She'd never gotten angry with him for it – no, in fact, she'd always smile at him no matter what he did. She'd always smelled of strawberries and something spicy. According to mother, she was from Japan.

The day after seeing numbers as small as the ones his mother had currently, the old woman had passed away. He'd cried for days at the loss. Really, his family was the only thing that kept him from retreating into himself and away from the idea of socialization entirely.

Did that mean his mother was going to die too?

A soothing voice broke him out of that morbid thought, and he cocked his head to the side. "What, mum?"

"I said your imaginary numbers are always different for everyone."

Imaginary. Yes, that had to be all they were. A five year imaginary existence. He pouted, but didn't argue as his mother continued speaking. She… would she die? "Well then, since mine changed, what are they?"

"One.. five.. tweleve… fourty-seven. But they were different yesterday, mummy!" Beyond whined pathetically. Why wouldn't she believe him? No, even so, why wouldn't anyone believe him when he talked about the numbers? "Yesterday they were fourty-three, seventy-nine, fifteen, six, and two!"

"Hush, sweetheart." Sometimes she worried about him. He always talked about numbers, and stared at her like they floated above her head. She loved him, but she often worried about schizophrenia. Could it be possible that he had it? No, not her perfect little genius. Of course not. "I'm taking a train to London tomorrow."


	3. Farewell Mother

**Farewell Mother**

**The Next Day…**

Those who knew the Birthday family were often jealous of their wealth. For obvious "prejudiced" reasons, however, they disliked their son. He was a strange child whose habits and eyes, as well as his mindless babbling about numbers made him simply too strange to fathom. Five year olds should not be so smart, or so intuitive. To know someone's name before they introduced themselves? Simply not natural.

However, if people had once taken the time to look beyond his eyes, they'd see that he was nothing more than a lonely child who desired a friend to go along with his family. That was the origin of his name.

Consider a mother's shock when her son first opens his eyes to reveal crimson irises. At first she would be afraid something was wrong with her baby, which was what B's mother had originally thought. When it was found that nothing was wrong with his eyes, she took note that many mothers wouldn't want a child with such scary eyes. But she saw _beyond_ that. So, his name was Beyond.

Mrs. Birthday was the kind of mother who would spoil her son, but also be strict with him. When he did something he shouldn't do, she scolded him and didn't coddle him when he cried. So, he learned that he wouldn't get what he wanted by crying. Instead of doing things wrong, he'd be good and ask nicely. Obviously, this kind of "good behavior" disappeared later in life. Most likely as result of being raised in the presence of so many males, all semblances of good manners faded from existence.

The woman was a stunning sight to behold. Her hair was a light chocolate brown, and her eyes were of a similar shade. When she laughed, it was like the world stopped for a moment just to listen to her. Often, at night, she would sing him to sleep. It was especially on nights when he had nightmares that she sang most beautifully. It seemed the entire world sang with her.

Beyond's father, on the other hand, was quite similar. He was a wonderful role model, hard-working, and as loving as his mother. He often brought snacks home that he'd picked up on the way home from work. When the small raven haired boy missed his mother, they played games together and he forgot all about it.

This particular day was to be one of three burned into his memory for the rest of his life. They'd form him, make him a monster. In the end it would be impossible to see that the innocent child was what B had originally been.

The courtyard just outside the large house his family owned was teeming with life. Worms burrowed in the fresh soil, birds called frantically back and forth between each other – a love song that he'd never come to understand. No, the only love he'd known was his family. The only feeling he'd known after that was loneliness. Settled in the garden, amongst a rosebush – some of the buds covered in buzzing bees – Beyond found himself placing his fingers on either side of a thorn, the flat side, and pulling them free. The lighter green spot left over fascinated him. What was underneath that soft green flesh?

Wide, innocent eyes gazed at the several areas of the bush that he'd done this to, and he laughed to himself. His mother, having left early that morning for London, had left him to his own devices. Often as it may seem, she was his playmate and his greatest companion. For now, Arrow was his only companion.

Speaking of Arrow… The cat mewed at him mournfully, and his attention was caught instantly. Sad? His head flicked to the side to gaze at the cat seated next to him. The orange cat with a black arrow-like design down his forehead most certainly looked upset. About what, he wasn't sure. Pouting slightly, Beyond reached out and scratched the creature's ears. Even the purring sounded sad. The last time Arrow had sounded this sad was… grandmother. His head drooped slightly. Did the numbers have something to do with death, then? He had a bad feeling…

Just at that exact moment, he fell out of the garden in surprise as the door leading to it slammed. Several shouts escalated to wails of despair. That was his father's voice. Early home from work?.. but why?

"Beyond! Come here… we need to talk."

5, 13, 56, 32. Those were his father's numbers. Somewhere it clicked in his mind. That was time. It had to be time. But time for what? "Yes papa!" Getting up and brushing the dirt from his khaki shorts, the black haired boy with crimson eyes ran to his father. The sinking feeling only got worse when he saw the man's facial expression.

"Your mother… she's gone." His voice was soft, but the tremble was there. It spoke thousands of things. Despair. Loss. Loneliness.

"..gone? Mummy's gone?" Tears. He shouldn't be crying! Boys don't cry! But his mother… He wasn't stupid. He knew what "gone" meant. It meant a perpetual sleep that no matter how much you shake the person, they don't wake up. Later, six feet under the ground, they'd rot. He knew about the rotting because he'd once dug up the old cat they'd had, hoping it would wake up and play with him. ..bad move. The maggots and the stench had been enough to cause him to vomit.

"Yes.. Mummy is gone."

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I admit that this has been one of my favorite chapters to write so far. To be completely honest, I probably take too much time comparing Beyond to myself in the way that I write him – but I admit I put myself into him for a reason. It's difficult to bring a character to life without putting yourself into them to some degree. Especially a character with little background information, such as Beyond. He had his heart destroyed at a very young age, and it came to shape him.

Psychologically, this is true. Personality is shaped between the ages of six to eight, though it can be earlier in some cases.

I hope everyone is enjoying the story!


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